Cold Obsidian Eyes
by johnsarmylady
Summary: London, after Moriarty's attempt to take over the country, is left in the hands of ruthless and power hungry gangs. Sherlock Holmes, scientist, found himself kidnapped, rescued, and dragged into the fight by a stranger and his unusual band of followers. But Sherlock has a secret that could spell death for all of them. An AU told in 221B format. Rated M for later themes.
1. The Meeting

Hanging by his wrists from rusty manacles, half naked, and cold to the bone, Sherlock Holmes, scientist and opponent of the feudal system that had taken hold of the country after Moriarty's failed attempt to take control, waited to learn his fate.

A hundred 'leaders' sprung up across Greater London, carving the map according to postal districts. Each leader was hungry for power and willing to do whatever it took to take another's territory, another's men.

Sherlock had been relatively safe, left in peace by local gang leader Sholto.

John Barrymore had overthrown Sholto, and added the NW1 district to his growing powerbase. A man with knowledge of politics and power, he made it his business to find out who, of note, lived on his 'patch'.

Sherlock Holmes was immediately identified as a potential threat, and as such was drugged and kidnapped, waking up some time later to be interrogated by a lackey. He held his nerve, and his tormentor brought him here and chained him up.

Now listening to the silence Sherlock heard a soft scuffling outside, and the door eased open.

A blond man slipped in, moving unerringly to his side, a finger to his lips to indicate silence, and as he stepped into a thin shaft of light Sherlock realised with a shock that the man was blind.


	2. No Time For Explanations

With sure movements the shorter man reached up and, using what looked to Sherlock's tired eyes like a hairpin, picked the locks on the manacles.

"Don't speak, there'll be time later." A soft voice whispered in his ear, and a hand rested on the side of his head. "Can you walk?"

Sherlock nodded, just as his knees gave way under him. A strong arm caught him and there was a short pause while Sherlock found his feet, then the soft voice asked again

"Can you walk?"

Straightening up and taking a tentative step, he looked down into the unseeing blue eyes, and feeling the hand once more on his head nodded, this time certain of his answer. A gleam of white teeth flashed in the gloom as his rescuer smiled and beckoned for him to follow.

Moving swiftly and silently the smaller man slipped away, Sherlock close on his heels, keeping close to the shadows by the walls. More than once Sherlock cursed his lack of a shirt or jacket as he grazed his arm and shoulder against jutting stonework.

He felt rather than saw his companion stop and press himself against the wall, and followed suit without question.

As the sound of patrolling thugs faded to the distance the voice whispered once more.

"Close your eyes, the sun's very bright."


	3. The Police Connection

The grey haired police officer stood facing the back of the swivel chair, his head bowed, waiting patiently.

The occupant of the chair had finally run out of insulting epithets for his ineffective foot soldiers and was staring moodily out of the window, as if by doing so he could see where his errant captive was hiding from him.

"Lestrade." The name was bitten out, and the Detective Inspector snapped to attention. "It's time you earned your continuing status in the Met."

"Sir." Gregory Lestrade kept his voice neutral; it wouldn't do to anger the man to whom he owed allegiance.

"Holmes has managed to escape." The chair swung round and piercing green eyes raked the police officer from head to foot. "Someone must have helped him, so I want him found. Find him, and you'll find the cuckoo in our nest."

"I'll need to know who was supposed to be guarding him," Lestrade replied, "and where he was being held."

Anticipating this request, a pudgy hand indicated a sheet of paper sitting on a side table.

"I had believed every man on that list to be trustworthy." There was lethal anger in the snarled words. "It pains me to know I've been betrayed."

"And when I find him?" Lestrade was sure he already knew the answer.

"I want him buried!"


	4. Following Blindly

Ducking his head until his eyes became accustomed to the light, Sherlock walked beside his blind companion, his mind frantically working out a way to get away both from his new friend and from this area.

He couldn't go home, they knew where he lived. And for the moment there was no-one else he could trust.

"You can trust me."

"I don't know who you are."

"No, that true isn't it?" The smaller man grinned. "However, you'll not get far in just a pair of trousers and shoes with the soles hanging off."

"How did….."

"Makes a noise as you walk. Now," he reached out and unerringly grasped the other man's elbow, "in here."

Sherlock found himself in the back yard of a deserted wholesaler. His companion let out a low whistle, and two young men slipped out from behind the industrial sized waste bins.

"He needs a shirt or jumper, a coat, and if you can find him some shoes he'll be less likely to break his neck." He held out a hand, and the younger of the two placed the strap of a backpack securely into it. "Thanks Keith, now get going, before he freezes to death."

As Keith and his friend hurried away, Sherlock found himself being dragged through a small door into the back of the building.


	5. Coming Clean

As the door closed behind them his guide pressed a lighter into his hand and pointed to the far corner of the unused warehouse.

"You'll find a couple of candles over there."

"Don't tell me that something as simple as lighting candles is beyond the man who broke me out of captivity." Sherlock said snarkily.

His companion turned to face him.

"I could do it," he said mildly, "but you're the one who needs the light. I can work just as well without." And he turned away and walked towards some upturned crates.

"Work?" Sherlock felt suddenly wrong-footed.

"You're a scientist Mr Holmes; you know the likelihood of infection if we don't clean up those scrapes you picked up in the catacombes." He started unpacking the backpack, his hands swiftly identifying each item he retrieved from its depths. "What, lost for words?"

"How do you know me? Who are you?" Sherlock lit the candles, their yellow light making little difference in the gloom.

"You're the man Moriarty believed was his intellectual equal." The other man worked as he spoke, cleaning and dressing Sherlock's wounds. "He believed you could help him develop mind-bending drugs to use against the government."

"But who are you?" Sherlock asked again

"My name is John, and I'm the only person standing between you and gang leader Barrymore."


	6. Changing Character

"John. Just John, or do you have another name?" Sherlock sat on the upturned crate, watching as the other man worked.

"Just John will do." Without hesitation he packed his things neatly back into the backpack. "Right, stay there a minute; I'll see if Keith's managed to find you some clothes."

Sherlock heard soft voices talking outside, then the sound of several people walking towards the door. Suddenly aware of his vulnerability he dropped down behind the crates, looking around to see if there was another way out.

"I assume all that noise was you trying to hide." John chuckled. "You really have nothing to fear from us." Dropping a bundle on the crate he added "Your new clothes; shirt and jacket, and a pair of DM's."

Undoing the bundle, Sherlock stared in dismay at the black studded and chained shirt, the red military style jacket and black scruffy boots.

"Steam Punk" Keith said. "Last thing they'd expect you to wear."

"Can't argue with that." Sherlock muttered, not quite under his breath.

"You've a bit of a problem as you can't go back to your Balcombe Street mews, however I'm sure they won't expect you to stay in the NW1 area." John said quietly. "I've a flat in Baker Street, if you want I can let you use the spare bedroom."


	7. Warning and Informing

"John, can I have a word?" Keith's so far silent friend laid a hand on the blind man's arm, indicating he wanted to speak privately.

John nodded and moved away from the others, calling over his shoulder as he went

"Get changed Mr Holmes, we'll need to move on very soon – the longer we wait the more likely they'll find you."

Grey eyes followed the two men as they walked away out of earshot. As if to reinforce the need for privacy, Keith started talking, encouraging the half-naked man to put his new clothes on, discussing where they had got them from and his hoped that the boots were okay.

Sherlock let it wash over him as he pulled the shirt and jacket on, his attention still on the other men. The young man was leaning close, whispering, and John was nodding, occasionally commenting, but he couldn't make out what was being said.

Conversation over, John walked back towards him, pulling a mobile phone from his pocket and sliding his thumb over the keyboard, dialling with ease of practice.

"Who are you ringing?"

"Police." John held up a hand to forestall any more questions as the call was answered. "It's John. You have a rogue officer in Scotland Yard."

He paused, listening, then said.

"Yeah I know, just watch your back."


	8. Moving On

John finished his call and dug once more into the backpack, pulling out a folding white stick.

"Right you lads get yourselves away, stay safe" Pulling the backpack over his shoulders as he spoke, John flicked his wrist, extending and locking the stick. "We'll give them a few minutes to get clear before we move on."

When the two younger men had gone, John stood tapping his stick absent-mindedly on the floor in front of him.

Sherlock waited, impatient to be gone from the area.

Suddenly John looked up.

"You any good at grabbing taxis?" he asked. "Failing that we have to travel by tube."

"No money." Sherlock pulled his pockets inside out as if to illustrate, then remembered his companion wouldn't see it.

"Leave that to me, come on." Securing the building John walked slowly along the pavement, tapping his stick.

"Here." Sherlock grasped the smaller man's arm, halting him, then stepped to the curb and held up his hand.

As the cab pulled up beside them, John hissed "Say nothing" then climbed in, giving the cabbie the address as his companion climbed in behind him.

Arriving in Baker Street, John paid the fare, and was about to open the front door when two figures peeled themselves away from the shadows, and grabbed him, slamming him back against the brickwork.


	9. An Unusual Welcoming Party

With an inarticulate cry Sherlock found himself pinned against the wall by a third man, the first two standing between him and John, shielding the smaller man.

"You alright?"

Sherlock was surprised to hear the question being asked, and realised they were speaking to his companion.

"Let him go Gary, he's with me."

"But…"

"Not now" John snapped. "Let him go and let's get inside before we draw attention to ourselves."

Pushing past his would-be protectors, John finally got the door open and all five men entered the house.

"Get the light if you need it." John was already making his way up the stairs in the darkness "And keep the bloody noise down, I don't want you to upset my landlady."

Leading them into the living room, John sat down and waited until they were all settled, Sherlock on the other armchair, the three shadows perched uncomfortably on the settee.

"Right, Mr Holmes here will be staying for the foreseeable future. Mr Holmes, meet Gary, Phil and Andy. They, like Keith and Paul, are my eyes and ears around town." He waited for the introduction to sink in, and then added "Guys, if you see Mr Holmes here in trouble at any time, you help him out, okay? He's under my protection now."

The three young men nodded. "Yes boss."


	10. The Breaking of Oaths

Lestrade sat at his desk, aware that what he was doing went against everything his oath to uphold the law meant, yet he wasn't going to let something like that bother him as he entered each name from Barrymore's list into HOLMES.

"Sir, can you spare me a moment?" Sally Donovan appeared in the doorway of the office, a sheaf of papers in her hand.

Unobtrusively Lestrade switched screens and covered the papers on his desk.

"Sure, anything's better than completing this month's stats for the Chief Constable to moan about." He smiled, and indicated the seat opposite him. "What's up?"

"We've had word that Barrymore is going to make a move on Openshaw's patch." She said quietly. "A very reliable informant overheard a couple of Barrymore's lieutenants."

Sally was busy reading from her notes, and didn't notice the guarded expression that flitted over the Detective Inspector's face.

"Who else knows about this?"

"Only DI Gregson, he brought it to me because he knew we've been working the Sholto case." Glancing up she added "If it's true, then he's attempting to join his areas."

Lestrade nodded "By adding WC1 to his collection."

Crossing to the wall map he looked at the disputed area.

"If he succeeds he'll have one hell of an area."

Sally sighed wearily. "Not just big, the biggest."

**A/N: HOLMES – Home Office Large Major Enquiry System.**


	11. Making Connections

"What's your speciality?"

The question pulled Sherlock out of his musings, and he looked up to find he was being offered a cup of tea.

"My speciality?"

"You're a scientist, Mr Holmes, so what are you? Chemist? Physicist?"

"Chemist, with a further interest in Forensics, but…. I get the impression you already knew that." He took a sip of his tea. "After all, why else would you break me out of Barrymore's little torture chamber."

Returning to his chair John leaned forward, his blind eyes staring at Sherlock's face.

"I know there is more to your kidnapping than your profession, more than the fact that Moriarty himself had targeted you."

John considered his next words carefully, feeling the tension in the room as his guest waited.

"He has access to chemists and forensic pathologists at Bart's, quite legitimately too, as they work on his patch." Rubbing a hand over his face, he continued. "I won't ask you to break any confidences, so I'll talk and you listen."

John went on to talk about a Government official, one with power and connections, one who had, apparently, disappeared after Moriarty's failed coup.

"The official was called Mycroft Holmes. That name, and the fact that Barrymore wants him, seems too much of a coincidence to me."

Sherlock grimaced.

"You're right John, he's my brother."


	12. A Far From Normal Day

Sherlock let his words sink in, before adding

"And I have no idea where he is."

John nodded, stood up and moved to the hall. "Your bedroom is at the end of the hall."

"I don't normally sleep much." Sherlock shrugged, not moving from his chair.

"So I've just been imagining hearing you stifling a yawn or two then?" With a grin he started up the stairs. "And I think you'll agree it's a far from normal day, so I suggest you go to bed."

"Am I your prisoner now?"

The question stopped John in his tracks, and he returned to the living room.

"No, when I said you're under my protection I meant exactly that." Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you want to leave I won't stop you, I'll shake your hand, and wish you luck, and wait for the newspaper report of your death."

There was a strained silence.

"Look, it's been a rough day. Get some sleep, and if you feel the same in the morning, then go."

"That sounds fair." Sherlock yawned and rose to his feet.

"If you're up before me there's tea, coffee and cereal in the kitchen, help yourself." He turned away, then added "And if you bump into Mrs Hudson don't worry, her bark is worse than her bite."


	13. Ladies Of The Night

Sally Donovan sat self-consciously fiddling with her coffee cup, trying not to look too obvious as she waited for her contact. In her pocket a piece of paper bearing two names, names that had until now been closely guarded.

Outside in the rain, two teenage boys lounged under a street-lamp, sheltering their cigarettes with cupped hands, jeering at passers-by, surreptitiously watching the dusky skinned detective.

And in the darkness of an unlit shop doorway three shadows watched the watchers.

As the meeting time came and went Sally's nerves were fraying. She dare not be caught with this information on her, and was planning how to get rid of it when the door opened, and slim brunette in a dark business suit hurried across to her table.

"Sally honey, I'm so sorry! The tube was a nightmare, so crowded, and we stopped for ages outside the station!"

As she stood to hug the newcomer Sally protested it was not a problem, and under cover of arranging their seats slipped the paper into the brunette's pocket.

Two coffees and some animated conversation later, the women went their separate ways, Sally back to her flat in Harringay, her companion walking unhurriedly back towards the tube station.

The teenage boys peeled themselves away from the street-lamp, moments later the shadows followed them, following the brunette.


	14. Learning The Rules

John listened carefully as he walked down the stairs, and picked up the sounds of his houseguest trying to be very quiet in the living room.

Ignoring him, he walked through to the kitchen and started making himself a cup of tea. Almost knocking the jar of coffee from the work-top, he spoke, his voice only slightly raised so that the other man would hear.

"You need to put things back where they came from Mr Holmes, it becomes a bit expensive if I keep knocking things over and breaking them."

"I didn't think…."

"'S okay, but if you're going to stay you need to remember." His tea made, John walked through to join the younger man. "And you are going to stay aren't you."

"Logically, it's my best option."

"So, do I carry on calling you Mr Holmes?"

"No…. no, Sherlock, please."

"Right then Sherlock, first you need some more clothes, you can't wear the same stuff forever."

"I'm afraid there may be a problem…."

"No, no problem, I'll organise it; unless you'd rather wear my old clothes?"

That elicited the first genuine laugh John had heard from his new flatmate.

"Unfortunately," John continued, "Barrymore is having your place watched round the clock." He sipped his tea thoughtfully. "So I think sending Mrs Hudson shopping would be our best bet."


	15. A Question Of Sticks

"You don't use your stick." Sherlock mused out loud as he stood watching John negotiate his way around the kitchen as he prepared breakfast.

"On my own territory Sherlock, you'll find most blind people know the layout of their homes like a map in their head."

"But what about yesterday? You weren't at home then… or were you?"

John gathered his thoughts as he carefully placed a fried egg onto each slice of toast, then turning he placed the two plates on the table.

"Eat." He said finally, sitting down.

"I don't….."

"Don't tell me you don't, just eat."

"You're avoiding the question." Sherlock sulked.

"No, the answer is simple really; we knew where you'd be, and would have rescued you earlier but I needed to be sure I could get to you and get you out unseen." He chewed thoughtfully, and then added. "I walked the route several times escorted by Keith and Paul respectively until I knew it well enough to appear sighted."

"And inside the prison?" His food untouched Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin, his elbows resting on the table.

"I was a prisoner there once; they dragged me through every inch of that place daily."

Sherlock held his breath, waiting.

"They beat me; every day with sticks and chains, until eventually they beat me blind."


	16. Blood and Sand

As the words settled heavily around them, Sherlock picked up his cutlery and started cutting into this food, forking it into his mouth and chewing without really tasting it at all.

John's revelations had shaken him, brought him to the realisation of his own likely fate had this short, blind, _brave_ man not risked himself to break him out.

"Why?"

"Why did they take me? They seemed to think I had some information that was useful to them." John shrugged, pushing his plate to one side and resting his forearms on the kitchen table.

"And did you?" Sherlock watched the other man's face closely, looking for any signs of deception.

John grinned, conspiratorially.

"Well of course I did, but once they'd beaten me senseless, and damaged my optical nerves, they convinced themselves that if I had known anything I would have told them long before things got that bad." A cold, hard look settled on his pleasant features. "But if Barrymore thought I'd risk my former comrades by giving him the locations of the Poppy fields, and Taliban drug lords..."

"Taliban drug lords? You were in Afghanistan?"

"Army doctor, attached to 5th Northumberland Fusiliers." Standing quite suddenly John turned away, slamming his plate into the sink. "He was mad if he thought I'd betray my friends in Kandahar and Camp Bastion."


	17. Mrs Hudson, Please!

The sound of the front door opening had John holding his hand up to forestall any further questions Sherlock may have had.

Still facing the sink he lifted his head and listened, then hurried out to open the door to the flat.

"Mrs Hudson, how many times do I have to tell you not to carry the shopping upstairs for me, I'm blind not incapable."

"Now John," A motherly voice chided. "I had help…."

"It's only me Doc." Gary followed Mrs Hudson through the door.

"Oh! You have company." Mrs Hudson looked interestedly at Sherlock. "Are you staying with John?"

"Yes he is, and no we're not." John had taken the bags from Gary and was busily unloading fresh fruit and vegetable into the fridge.

Sherlock looked confused, his eyes darting between his host and the landlady.

"Oh there's nothing to be ashamed of, we get all sorts round here…."

"Yes, and Mrs Turner next door has married ones, enough Mrs Hudson please! I do have a favour to ask though."

"Of course dear."

John reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"I want you to buy Sherlock some decent clothes." He handed over a bank card. "Take what money you need from the account."

"Hang on a minute." Sherlock protested. "What is she implying?"

"That you're my boyfriend."


	18. Clothes and Information

As Sherlock followed the octogenarian down to her ground floor flat, John closed the door and turned to Gary.

"What news?"

"We've found her." Gary spoke softly, sitting himself in the chair recently vacated by the other man.

"Any trouble?" John asked, sitting opposite his informant.

"Not that we couldn't deal with."

"How many?"

"Two. They won't cause any problems; they can't be traced back to us."

"Right, so tell me."

John listened as Gary related the events of the previous evening, taking in the details.

"And," the informant concluded. "She met with someone we know…. Sally Donovan."

Sherlock burst noisily into the silence that followed Gary's words, his face like thunder.

"That….. that woman…."

"Mrs Hudson."

"Yes, she told me I can't wear the kind of clothes I like to wear!"

John dismissed Gary, and once he had gone asked

"And that is?"

"Black jeans, designer tees and cardigans, designer jackets."

"And no doubt that is what Barrymore would have seen you wearing, found in your wardrobe?"

"Yes but…"

"Trust Martha Hudson, her late husband was always several steps on the wrong side of the law so she knows what she's doing."

"What that sweet little old lady?"

John laughed out loud.

"The very same." He sobered up a little. "Get some rest, tonight we're off to visit Fulham Broadway."


	19. Watchers

Unlocking his desk drawer, Greg Lestrade reached in for the papers he had stashed there the night before.

Checking on all the names on Barrymore's list was a slow process; he needed to do them one or two at a time to avoid attracting unwanted attention or suspicion.

The information so far had been helpful, but had not yet identified a likely suspect. Lestrade typed in the next name and waited.

"Sir, can you spare a moment?"

He looked up to see Detective Constable Greenaway hovering in the doorway and so he beckoned the man in.

"What is it Greenaway?"

"It's that scientist bloke that went missing." The younger red-headed man said. "We've had reports of a number of suspicious looking characters watching his home."

"Oh?" Lestrade's interest piqued. "Do we have descriptions?"

The detective pulled a notebook out.

"Yeah, a bit sketchy, but one of them definitely had a septum piercing, with a chain leading to another ring in his ear."

Instructing the other man to get a few officers together, Lestrade sent him to see if they could pick any of them up and bring them in for questioning.

Watching the other man leave, he picked up his mobile and pressed the speed-dial.

As it was answered he said calmly

"You've got a problem. Someone has reported your boys."


	20. Life in the Dark

"Why do you keep them?"

"Sorry?" John opened his eyes, turning his head in the direction of the questioner.

"The books. Why keep them?" Sherlock sounded genuinely curious.

John sighed.

"They took my sight Sherlock, but I'll be damned before I let them take my life with it."

There was a sound very like a snort of derision, and John frowned.

"What?"

"Sentiment." The younger man almost spat the word, his disgust at such maudlin emotions evident.

John opened his mouth but his words were forestalled by the sound of his phone ringing. He pulled it from his pocket, his thumb moving with familiar ease to answer the call.

"Yeah mate, what have you got?" John stood and walked out to the kitchen.

"_Barrymore knows that his watchers have been spotted, he's pulling them out."_

"Hmm, okay."

"_And there's no more news on the information leak, I'll keep at it."_

"Great. Unfortunately I have another person to consider."

"_Who?"_

"Sergeant Sally Donovan."

"_Christ John…."_

"Sorry mate, I know another mole is the last thing you needed to hear, but if you could check it out…"

"_I'm on it. Check in later."_

The line went dead, and John returned to his seat.

"How did you know who it was?"

"Ringtone; everyone has a different one, so do you prefer Mozart or Beethoven?"


	21. Making the Man

By mid-afternoon Mrs Hudson had returned with nearly a dozen bags filled with some high end clothing, significantly different from Sherlock's favoured style.

Grumbling, he took the bags through to his designated room, and nearly an hour later having showered and shaved returned to the living room where John and Mrs Hudson were chatting amiably over a cup of tea and a slice of her home-made Victoria sponge.

"Oh now, that's an improvement!" the elderly lady exclaimed clapping her hands.

"Tell me?" John smiled, resting his head against the back of the chair and closing his eyes.

"Well it's an improvement on Steam Punk." Sherlock groused, but there was no conviction in his voice.

John quirked an eyebrow.

"Deep purple shirt, black Spencer Hart suit, black brogues…." He paused, and John's eyes flicked open.

"What? Something you don't like?"

"No." it was almost a reverend whisper. "It's the most magnificent coat I've ever seen. Thank you Mrs Hudson"

"It's a Belstaff John, calf-length, greatcoat style." Martha Hudson beamed up at the young man who was currently trying different ways of wearing the garment. "The style suits you."

She stood and reached into a small carrier bag, adding a blue cashmere scarf and a pair of leather gloves.

"Fortunate you have plenty of savings," she added. "That lot almost broke the bank!"


	22. Cherchez La Femme

They travelled to Fulham Broadway by tube, and when they changed onto the District line they had the whole carriage to themselves.

"Where are we going?" Sherlock asked as they pulled out of Edgware Road station.

"To speak to the woman that Sally Donovan met last night." John let the train pull out of another station before elucidating. "We think she passed her some information, but that's not the only reason we're interested in her."

"And why do I get the feeling you aren't going to tell me more?"

John laughed softly.

"Her description matches a person we've been looking for, and I want to talk to her."

Sherlock stared at his feet.

"Why did you do it?" He asked suddenly. "Why did you risk it, coming to get me?"

John stood as the train pulled into Fulham Broadway station, tapping his white stick against the platform as he stepped out. He waited until they were outside before answering.

"Barrymore wants your brother quite badly, and he is unlikely to believe that he disappeared without telling you."

"And?"

"And if killing you would bring your brother out of hiding, then that's what he was prepared to do."

The revelation momentarily silenced the younger man as they approached the house.

"We're here" Sherlock said as he reached up to ring the bell.


	23. A Revelation

It had been twenty four hours since she had followed her instructions and passed the information on, yet Sally couldn't help wondering if her actions were too little, too late.

Sitting on her settee, hugging a mug of hot chocolate she went over in her mind the conversation, and the instructions she had been given when this all started...

"_You have to be sure that she gets this information."_

"_How will I know when…?"_

"_It will be obvious. As soon they make their move, you need to contact her and make sure you pass the names on. She will know what to do with them."_

"_And afterwards?"_

"_Afterwards we play a waiting game…."_

Well, the waiting game had well and truly started, and with churning stomach Sally pinned her hopes on her contacts knowing their game, and her own abilities to keep below the radar and come out of this unscathed.

xXx

In the dark south London street Sherlock and John stood playing their own waiting game, listening to the sounds of movement within the house.

Footsteps were heard descending the stairs, and John moved closer to his companion until their arms were touching. It was a casual, seemingly unconscious move, but as the door finally opened it allowed him to feel the ripple of shock that accompanied Sherlock's harsh, indrawn breath.


	24. The Mystery Brunette

Opening the door wide the brunette gasped.

"Mr Holmes! How did you find me?"

With a quick glance up and down the street she stepped back and gestured for them to come in.

As if by habit born Sherlock took John's elbow and guided him forward, closing the door behind them and leaning back against it.

"Anthea? I thought you were with my brother."

"No Sherlock," John interjected "Your brother went off to do whatever it was he needed to do to protect the country, and left his PA here to keep an eye on things."

"Who is this?" Anthea had regained her composure, stepping away and leading them through to the kitchen.

"This is John Watson, he broke me out of Barrymore's clutches."

Finding his way to a seat at the table, John said nothing.

Anthea sat opposite the two men, her eyes on her boss's younger brother. "So, how did you find me?"

"I didn't." Sherlock answered quietly. "John did."

"How?"

"The same way I rescued Sherlock, with a little help from my friends." John sat back in his chair. "We know Sally Donovan passed some info to you, I assume it will enable you to contact Mycroft."

"And what if it does?"

John's eyes narrowed "To be passed to you if they targeted Sherlock, just as I believed."


	25. Not so Civil Servants

There was a strained silence as John's words struck a chord.

"I assumed that there was more to his disappearance than the fact that most Government officials' lives were virtually forfeit in the months after the collapse."

"Are you implying that Mr Holmes is a coward?" Anthea snapped indignantly.

"No, I'm implying he has knowledge, or a secret, that in the wrong hands could be devastating." John indicated his sightless eyes. "And I'd like to help take down the people that did this to me."

Anthea looked at Sherlock; he nodded his consent.

"Mr Holmes had intelligence that indicated several senior civil servants were linked to a heroin operation, shipping the drug from Afghanistan to be sold on the London streets." As she talked the brunette drew circles on the table with her finger-tip. "The warlords were somehow mixing the drug with other compounds, and producing rubber based toys and garden ornaments."

"And the civil servants?" John asked.

Sherlock leaned forward to take up the tale.

"There were three of them, between them they owned an import export company that traded solely with 'poor Afghanistan villagers', helping them to build their own economy." He said. "But the truth was the 'villagers' were Taliban poppy growers. It was obvious."

"And," Anthea added, "After Moriarty, the civil servants ended up in body bags."


	26. Evidence

"Are you sure about this Lestrade?" Barrymore growled, staring hard at the files on the desk. The names on the manila covers were as familiar to him as his own.

"I'm sorry sir," Greg stood with his hands at his sides, letting the waves of anger from the other man wash over him.

"I trusted them!" the words were roared over the policeman's apology, "They were like sons to me!"

"Unfortunately there can be no mistake; we have evidence that both of them have connections with other gangs."

"And this is your evidence?" the gang leader opened both files, spreading out arrest sheets and photographs.

"Some of it." Lestrade said. "I can get more if you need it."

"No." Scooping up the files and their incriminating contents he thrust them back into Greg's hands.

"You want me to…."

"I don't think so. I'll have them taken care of, not doubt they will drop onto your desk in time. Having you on the inside at the Yard is the smartest move I could have made." Barrymore smiled in a self-congratulatory manner. "Go back to your office and turn your mind to finding Holmes."

"Which one?"

"I think where you find one, the other will not be far away." Barrymore waved a dismissing hand. "I want then here, I _will_ have their blood!"


	27. Trust

"I want to know who your contacts were." John's voice was firm, brooking no arguments. "We need to work together on this."

"And what, exactly, is _this_?"

"Don't be obtuse Anthea, he's talking about bringing Barrymore down." Sherlock shifted in his chair "With him out of the picture Mycroft can continue his work without fear of kidnap and torture."

Anthea's blue gaze roamed over the pale face, lingering on the high cheekbones before meeting and holding the silver grey stare.

"You trust him." It was a statement, not a question.

"He saved my life, came in to get me when no one else did."

"And you don't think that's strange? A total stranger, and no ordinary total stranger but a blind man, walks into Barrymore's lair and unpicks your handcuffs?"

"How did you know that?" Immediately John was alert.

"You said…" suddenly the ever efficient PA looked and sounded unsure.

"No, I think you'll find that neither of us mentioned handcuffs." Sherlock moved to stand behind her. "Only someone who had seen me, or been told by an insider could possibly have known that."

John rose and edged around the table until he stood next to his new flatmate.

"What is your connection to Barrymore?" he asked.

Anthea twisted in her chair and smirked up at them.

"He is my boyfriend!"


	28. Outcomes

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than John reached forward and splayed his hand across her face, pushing down and pressing her cheek into the table.

"Is he coming here?" he snarled softly.

Her answer was to try to bite him, so he moved his fingers to tangle them in her hair, his painful grip holding her still.

"What now?" Sherlock asked staring down in disgust at his brother's trusted employee.

With his free hand John pulled out his phone, hitting the speed-dial. It was answered almost immediately.

"Keith, we may be expecting company. Keep your eyes peeled." Cutting the call he answered Sherlock's question. "I need you to search for those contact names, they're your brother's lifeline."

With a hum of agreement he headed first for the lounge, rummaging through the papers near the telephone, and then turning his attention to the bureau in the corner.

An overflowing bin caught his eye and he tipped it up, quickly scanning every crumpled sheet.

He finally found what he had been looking for and bounded back into the kitchen, John was on the phone

"Barrymore's on his way, we've got to go." John said.

But Sherlock's eyes were drawn to the woman slumped limply at the table.

"What happened?"

"A mild contretemps," John explained, "I'm afraid her neck's broken."


	29. The Getaway

Sherlock bit back any questions he might have had, and in light of their rather hazardous situation looked around for an escape route.

"Out through the back door?" He suggested.

"Go." John snatched up his white stick and followed the sound of Sherlock crossing to and opening the back door, stepping carefully through into the garden, relying on his hearing to keep him moving behind his flatmate.

Slipping through the back gate Sherlock found himself in a dark back alley running parallel with the road and the row of houses.

"Not fast enough." John muttered under his breath as they made their way back towards the underground station.

Sherlock grabbed his hand.

"What…?" John tried to pull away

"D'you trust me John?"

There was the merest pause for breath before he got his answer in the renewed grip on his hand, and the sound of a soft chuckle.

"Always."

"Then run!" Sherlock tugged, and suddenly the pair were flying down the alleyway, bursting out onto a side street. He led them across a road, zig-zagging through the traffic until they reached the station.

At a more sedate pace they walked, no longer holding hands, down to the platform. They were still gasping for air and giggling helplessly when they boarded the train.

John looked at Sherlock and grinned. "You mad bastard!"


	30. Home Again

They reached the flat, having purchased fish and chips as they left the station, and John quickly dished up the food while waiting for the kettle to boil.

When supper was finished, Sherlock's thoughts turned back to Fulham.

"Was it really necessary to kill her?" He asked.

John put aside his empty plate.

"If you want to remain at liberty; if she'd passed your description to Barrymore you wouldn't have lasted a week." He stood and walked over to switch on the radio.

"What now?"

"Need to wind down."

Sherlock frowned.

"Let me read to you?"

John hesitated.

"You don't exactly strike me as the story-teller type."

Sherlock chuckled.

"Maybe I'll surprise you." He stood up and headed for the bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines until he found one he thought might suit.

"What have you chosen?" John settled back onto the couch.

"Neverwhere."

"Appropriate." John grinned, and as Sherlock started to read he closed his eyes and relaxed.

It wasn't long before Sherlock felt a weight against his arm and he realised John had slipped across the couch and was dozing against him. Putting the book aside, he eased the blond head down into his lap and softly stroked his friend's hair.

And he wondered if he should share with John the secrets held fast in his brain


	31. Found

It always amazed Greg that the press could reach a crime scene almost as quickly as he could, and as he climbed out of his car he noticed the gang leader standing in the doorway looking both angry and upset.

"Mr Barrymore?" he asked. "Detective Inspector Lestrade. I understand you found the body."

Greg ushered him back into the house as they spoke. Neither man gave any sign of knowing the other.

"Someone broke in here and killed my girlfriend." Barrymore fists were clenched as he fought his anger.

A glance at the front door showed that it hadn't been forced, so he followed the other man through to where the forensic team were taking photographs and looked at the back door.

"No forced entry. Could it be that she knew her killer?"

"Who knows?" the anger was over-spilling now. "She used to work for the government..."

Stepping up to take a closer look at the body Greg realised with a start that he recognised the woman slumped, inelegant in death, across her kitchen table. She was none other than Mycroft Holmes' PA.

When the government fell he alone was missing from the list of murdered civil servants, and Greg had always assumed his ever present assistant had fled with him.

"Well," he thought, "I can't believe how wrong I've been."


	32. Fright

She couldn't shake it, that feeling that something monumental was about to happen. It fizzed in her stomach and raced around her head, until she gave up any pretence of trying to sleep, pulling on her dressing gown and heading to the kitchen.

Her bare feet cold on the tiled floor, she curled her toes and rocked back on her heels while she waited for the kettle to boil. A glance at the clock told her she'd barely been in bed for an hour, yet despite having been achingly tired when she climbed in she was now wide awake.

Hot drink made, she made her way through to the lounge and flipped on the television, skimming through the channels until she came to a news programme. Tucking her feet up she let the voice of the newsreader flow over her, the war in Afghanistan, the Russians grouping on the Ukrainian border… then breaking news.

The picture that flashed up on the screen showed a thirty something brunette, and with widening, horrified eyes she saw her friend, and heard the reporter say how she'd been found dead by her boyfriend, businessman Jay Barrymore.

In shock she scrabbled for her phone and dialled a number.

"Hi," she said as the police operator answered. "It's Sally Donovan, I need to speak to the boss."


	33. An Awakening

Stiff and disorientated, the first thing John noticed was that his 'pillow' was warm, fairly solid, and smelled nice.

The next was that he appeared to have either a large warm spider, or a very odd shaped hat woven into his hair. Carefully moving his hand to his head he encountered fingers, long and slim, relaxed.

Feeling a blush warming his cheeks he eased himself up, rubbing his hands over his face and getting stiffly to his feet. Deciding that he needed tea he headed towards the kitchen, and had barely taken two steps before walking into something solid that caught him just below the knee, and sent him tumbling forwards.

He hit the floor with a yelp.

"John!" Sherlock was awake instantly, and kneeling beside the fallen man. "John I'm so sorry, are you hurt?" He waited; anxiously watching as John slowly sat up and rubbed absently at his cheek.

"Nothing broken," he mumbled, "but I'll have a bruise or two. What did I walk into?"

"My legs." Sherlock admitted, shamefaced. "You were so tired I didn't want to disturb you by moving, so I put my feet up on the coffee table and fell asleep."

Gently he helped John to his feet.

"I'm so sorry," Sherlock said again. "Can I get you anything?"

John's lips twitched. "Yeah, some breakfast."


	34. And Another

A light tapping on the office door woke Sally. The result of her call last night to Lestrade was that he had offered her the use of the camp bed and blankets he kept in a cupboard, a throwback to the days when he and his wife were still together and fighting.

The door cracked open a fraction.

"Are you decent?" Lestrade sounded tired. "I've brought you coffee."

"Yes Sir," She scrambled out of the blankets and started to fold them. "What time is it?"

"It's early, not quite 6am." The grey haired detective pushed into the office with a cup in each hand. "Did you sleep okay?"

"I did eventually thanks, and thanks for letting me sleep here."

Lestrade sat at his desk, sipped his coffee then shook his head.

"No problem Sal, you were scared and I can't say I blame you. Initial forensic evidence shows your old school friend's neck was expertly broken by someone using their bare hands." He watched as tears welled up in her eyes.

"Were you two close?"

"Not really, not since she started working for the Government, but every month or so, work permitting, we'd meet for lunch, or coffee…" Sally's voice cracked, and she sat down and cried.

And Greg wondered how to tell her that her good friend had gone bad.


	35. Oh What a Tangled Web

"Her boss Mr Holmes, he knew we were friends, and when the crash came he gave me some information for her." Sally had taken the news of her friend's perfidy quite calmly. "He said I'd know when to pass it on."

"And did you?"

"When his younger brother Sherlock went missing, I realised that was the trigger."

"And what was the information?" Greg leaned towards her.

"It was a couple of names." She whispered brokenly. "But I only glanced at them once; I didn't recognise either of them."

With a nod Greg gestured to the door.

"Okay. Go get a shower and change. You're on office duties until we catch the killer."

xXx

Greg's mobile vibrated as he watched Sally walk away.

"Lestrade."

"The information is missing from the house." Barrymore snapped.

"So someone knew what to look for?"

"Fortunately she'd already given me the names, but now someone else knows too. You have to find them."

"And do you know where to find these people?" Greg asked.

"She was going to tell me last night." The gang leader fumed. "I want you to trace them for me." He closed the call.

xXx

After a moment's thought Greg made a call.

"He has the names, but can't contact them." He said without preamble. "Hopefully this will give us time to make a breakthrough."


	36. The Purloined Paper

Showered and changed John joined Sherlock in the living room, where the latter was looking at the piece of paper he had purloined from Anthea's house.

Staring at his brother's handwriting, Sherlock wondered if Mycroft knew his trusted PA had betrayed him, had he even seen the news report.

He looked up as John slid into his chair and leaned forward, sightless eyes turned towards him.

"You have the names from last night?"

"I do," Sherlock smoothed the paper absent-mindedly. "I know one of them, not the other."

"Okay, that's a start at least. D'you know where he is?"

Sherlock shook his head.

John cleared his throat, and as he looked up at him the younger man realised his mistake.

"Sorry, I forgot." He mumbled, provoking a chuckle from the other man.

"That's okay," John assured him. "You'll get used to it. So, do you?"

"No. Mycroft always played his cards close to his chest."

"Damn." Scratching his head John thought for a moment. "Who are they?"

"Matthew Reader, I know him. He was my brother's personal protection officer." With a sigh he contemplated the other name. "The other is Neville Drury, never come across him before."

"Okay Sherlock, I'm going to call in some help," John pulled out his phone, adding "You see what you can remember about brother's bodyguard."


	37. Trapped

"Sally," Greg said quietly. "Come in and close the door will you?"

He sat back in his chair and waited until she had taken a seat opposite.

"Look, I know this has been rough on you, and I'm afraid it's going to get rougher." With a sigh he pushed a piece of paper across the desk towards her. "Do you recognise either of these names?"

Running her fingers through her hair the Detective Sergeant looked at the writing, paling slightly as she looked up at him.

"These are the names I passed on to Anthea…." She said hoarsely. "But how did you get them.?"

"And you said you didn't know them? Didn't know who they are or where we might find them?"

"No, I have no idea"

Slowly, Sally rose to her feet.

"How did you get those names?" she asked again, her eyes darting between the door and the paper still sitting on the desk.

"I think you've already worked that out." Came the quiet response as Greg also rose and walked around the desk.

Sally darted for the door, but Lestrade was too quick for her, grasping her wrist and pulling her back, putting himself between her and the only exit.

"Who's side are you on?" Sally hissed, looking down at the fingers gripping her hard enough to bruise.


	38. Scouting Party

John stood staring blindly out of the window, his head tilted slightly as if listening for something specific.

"Do you miss it?" Sherlock asked, and then with a hiss of disgust answered his own question. "Yes of course you must!"

He moved closer, so close that a deep breath now would bring his chest in contact with John's shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." It was said sharply, almost defensively. "I'm not in need of pity."

"I didn't…"

But the moment was lost in the sound of footsteps clattering up the stairs. There was a light tap on the door, and it opened to reveal a young girl with greasy blond hair. Behind her was Paul, one of the youths Sherlock had met the day he was rescued.

"Hi Doc!" the girl said brightly, grabbing him and pulling him in for a hug.

"Kallie, are you looking after yourself okay?"

"Always the mother hen." She rolled her eyes as the four of them sat down.

"What've you got for us then Doc?"

"A search job Kallie. Sherlock here has a name and some vague information. I need you to visit the libraries and check electoral rolls." John handed her a piece of paper with all that Sherlock could remember written on it.

"Where do we start then?"

Sherlock looked at her. "Battersea."


	39. Team Watson

After accepting tea and toast Kallie and Paul left, each with a note of the names they were looking for, Kallie heading for Battersea, Paul to the upmarket St Catherine's Dock area of east London.

"Hopefully Kallie will find Reader fairly easily." John sighed as he sat down. "Unless he's moved or been taken."

"Who are these people?"

"The kids? Homeless mainly, I started helping them before I lost my sight, now they help me."

"You trust them?" Sherlock was genuinely curious.

"With my life and yours." John replied seriously. "I've never forced confidences from them, and I've never judged them. They in turn have felt able to come to me when they need help. We've built up a good relationship."

"That's something of an understatement."

"Be grateful for it. With them I hope to get word to your brother that you're safe, and then with his help we want to start trying to turn this whole unholy mess around."

"Watson's warriors?"

John chuckled at that.

"No, the ones that you've met call themselves Team Watson; they are the inner circle if you will. All told there are around a hundred others."

Sherlock whistled softly through his teeth.

"Where does my brother come into it?" he asked.

"I've been told that he has been working towards crushing the Taliban drug barons."


	40. A Truth to be Told (part 1)

Sally sunk back into her chair, her eyes on the DI, rubbing at her bruised wrist.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"That depends on you." Greg looked down at her from where he leant against the door. "I need to be sure I can trust you."

"Hah! That's rich, coming from someone who is obviously working with one of our most vicious gang leaders."

"You think so?" the older man shook his head gently. "You realise how bad it looks for you passing information to that same gang leader's girlfriend?"

"But I didn't know!" Sally insisted, her voice rising sharply as she tried to make her point. "She was an old school friend! And if her boss didn't know what hope could I have?"

Hazel eyes bored into her as she stared back up at him, and after a few minutes Greg seemed to come to a decision.

Glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure no-one else was listening in he stepped away from the door, moving round to sit back behind his desk. Her eyes followed him as he moved.

"God help me if I've read you wrong here Sally," he said at last. "But I'm willing to take that chance and trust you."

He leaned forward.

"I'm working for someone who wants Barrymore broken."


	41. A Confidence Shared

"Working for…." Sally's brain was in overdrive, and she was having difficulty processing the Detective Inspector's words. "You mean, other than the Met."

Greg smiled and wondered if she realised how stupid her words sounded, but the shock on her face was genuine, and he was relieved to see it. For all her faults Sally Donovan force equivalent of Brighton rock- slice her open and the words Metropolitan Police ran right through her.

"There is a small group of people I came across some time ago, while I was making connections and infiltrating Barrymore's little private army."

"So you've been passing information on to them?"

"And doctored information on to Barrymore." He watched carefully for any signs that he'd misread her allegiances, but there was no gleam of triumph, no scheming look in her eyes as they met his.

"How can I help?"

"Well," he leaned back in his chair, relaxed for the first time since Anthea's body had been found. "First I have to let them know that you're with me in this."

"Okay," she nodded. "But while you do that is there nothing I can be doing to help?"

Greg thought for a moment.

"Actually I could use your research skills." Pausing, he added "We have a rogue informant at the Yard; I want you to find the bastard."


	42. A Truth to be Told (part 2)

Chewing his lower lip, Sherlock listened to the clatter of John washing up the breakfast things mingling with the sound of Radio 4.

He'd never really considered himself to be the type of person to actually find himself enjoying the company of another, but lately he had found the companionship pleasing.

To him John Watson was something of an enigma. A doctor and soldier, also benefactor to and leader of a small army of homeless, and he has a matter of fact way of dealing with his blindness, not letting it get in the way of the work he had taken it upon himself to do.

The man himself attracted him in ways he hadn't anticipated too. There was that smile. The first time he'd seen it Sherlock had not only felt reassured, he had felt that for the first time ever someone actually cared what happened to him. That in itself was enough to make him think long and hard about coming clean, about telling him.

Sherlock missed the sound of the radio being switched off, and jumped slightly when John walked in and sat opposite him.

"You okay?" the older man asked.

Sherlock swallowed convulsively.

"John, there's something you should know." He said reluctantly. "I'm the scientist that's been working on separating the drugs from the compound chemical binder."


	43. Reasons

Silence descended on the Baker Street flat, and Sherlock expected John's next words to be ones of accusation or rejection, yet not for the first time the man surprised him.

"Thank you, I had thought as much, but I wouldn't have pushed it, those kinds of confidences can't be forced."

Sherlock blinked.

"You're not angry?"

"Why should I be?" Shifting slightly in his chair John made himself comfortable. "You're a scientist, a good one by all accounts…."

"One of the best" Sherlock declared.

"….and if your brother didn't make use of a resource so close to home then he's a fool; and you don't get to his position in the government by missing opportunities."

"As soon as he discovered how they were bringing the drugs into the country, he asked me to work on ways to reverse the procedure, so that we could identify which shipments contained drugs with a simple test."

"And destroy it before it hit the streets?"

"Yes."

There was something in the way he said it that caught John's interest.

"Why get involved?" He asked eventually. "There must have been a driving factor."

"The binding agent caused contamination of the product." Sherlock explained. "It takes a while, but the cumulative effect is highly poisonous. He got involved when my recreational use put me in a hospital bed."


	44. Disappointment

"Why?"

"Like I said the cumulative effect…."

"Sherlock, I'm not stupid. Neither are you for that matter, so I'll ask again; why were you using?" John had tried to keep his voice even, but there was a thread of disappointment that his companion couldn't fail to pick up.

And he did. Immediately defensive, Sherlock shrugged forgetting again that the other man couldn't see him, and rubbed his hands over his face, mumbling as he did so.

"What?" John cocked his head slightly as if that would help him understand.

"I said I needed something, anything, to make me feel, help me to lose myself" Sherlock snarled, flinging himself out of his chair to pace up and down the living room. "You don't know what it's like, day in day out, with thoughts skittering around and around, no outlet for them, nothing to satisfy that need…."

"What need?" John stood up and reached out; grabbing the front of Sherlock's shirt more by luck than anything else, and he pulled the taller man up close.

"What need Sherlock? What need could possibly make you risk your life, risk that incredible scientific brain- oh yes, I know it's incredible, why else would your brother trust you to find the answers? So tell me, what need?"

"The need," Sherlock whispered. "To take away the boredom."


	45. The Promise

His hand still wrapped in the front of Sherlock's shirt, John drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. Whatever excuse he had expected from the other man, that wasn't it. Boredom? It was ridiculous.

On the table his phone started to ring, but John ignored it.

"Shouldn't you…"

"No."

"But it might be important."

Uncurling his fingers from the soft material, John splayed his hand against Sherlock's chest, unconsciously leaning into him.

"The call can wait, this however can't." John dropped his chin on his chest, thinking. "How long have you been clean?"

"Just over two years, since I came out of hospital." The warmth of John's hand, and his nearness, was almost as heady a drug to Sherlock as the cocaine had once been. "The work kept me busy, focussed. Then there was Moriarty."

"Yes Moriarty." John moved away. Sherlock was bereft. "You weren't tempted by what he had to offer?"

"My brother and I don't have the best relationship, but I wouldn't sell him into the hands of a madman for the promise of unlimited access to drugs."

John nodded.

"Okay." He turned his face towards the younger man. "But if you're to stay here you've got to stay clean."

"I promise." Sherlock said, strangely relieved. "And this is a promise I have no intention of breaking."


	46. Place of Safety

Amid the hive of activity in New Scotland Yard, Greg and Sally sat and discussed options.

"Well I can't let you go home." Greg felt like he'd said this a hundred times. "You know that Barrymore is aware that you were the original handler for the information."

"But I can't sleep here forever!" Sally too was getting fed up with this conversation. All she wanted to do was find somewhere safe to stay.

"No you can't, but until I can come up with something better I suggest you get used to it – at least I can be sure you'll still be alive when I come in to work in the morning."

Through her frustration Sally could hear the sincerity in the DI's voice, see his concerns writ clearly in the lines on his face.

In a sudden decisive move, Greg stood up and reached for his coat.

"With me Sergeant, you and I need a change of scene." He stalked from the room, knowing that Donovan was following.

They left the building they turned towards Victoria Street, and the quiet little coffee shop that Greg liked to frequent.

"Look," he said "There's a simple fix here."

Sally looked at him hopefully.

"If you don't mind working nights, then you can sleep during the day, at my flat, in the spare bedroom."


	47. The Work

John sat, eyes closed, thinking.

Sitting opposite him Sherlock watched as the smaller man tapped out a nameless tune with his fingers as he turned various things over in his mind. John had hardly said anything since his confession and promise not to use drugs while in 221B, and Sherlock was uncomfortably aware that he was most likely the object of the other man's musings.

"Where did you do your research?"

"I had a small laboratory set up in Balcombe Street; I did a lot of my experiments there."

"Then I assume the results of your work are already in Barrymore's hands." John sat up, pinched the bridge of his nose and frowned. "There's not a hope in hell that he won't have turned your place over when he took you."

"I came home and found the lock had been forced. They were lying in wait." Sherlock's voice was filled with self-loathing. "I should have realised, got out while I could."

"Don't beat yourself up about it; Barrymore would have had the area flooded with his goons."

"Was that what happened to you?"

"Yeah, pretty much." He rubbed his hands along his thighs, agitated. "If he's got your notes then it won't be long before…."

"No." Sherlock interrupted. "My notes were always kept safe, with an old friend at St Bart's."


	48. The Old Friend

"St Bart's? Not sure how safe that is then, its smack in the middle of Barrymore's patch." The beginnings of hope started to deflate. "We may have to find another way of recreating…."

"I don't think so." Sherlock interrupted. "My friend is not the most noticeable person in the world."

"Really? Who is it, the cleaner?"

Sherlock threw him an irritated glare.

"His name's Mike Stamford, he's a lecturer at the med school and…what?" He stopped, noticing the grin on John's face.

"'Bout the same height as me, chubby, wears glasses?"

"Not chubby; fat."

"And he's still at Bart's? Bloody hell, I was a student with Mike! I'm not surprised he's teaching now though, always was a swot."

"Then you know what I mean."

"Okay." John retreated into his thinking mode. "Did you leave Mike with any instructions regarding your notes? You know, like 'destroy them if I don't come back'?" he asked.

"No, my brother would know to go to him, or at least send someone he knows."

"Wait here." Suddenly John jumped up, and headed out of the flat.

Sherlock listened to him trot carefully downstairs and knock on Mrs Hudson's door. Ten minutes he was back with a big grin on his face.

"Right, we need to get the notes, you now have a laboratory- in the basement."


	49. Lost Treasure

Sherlock's eyes lit up like a child at Christmas, and just as quickly that light died.

"What about equipment? Mine was destroyed." He ruffled his fingers through his hair. "And chemicals, I'll need to replace the chemicals."

"What else?"

"Nothing else, Mike has the notes, and also a number of the items that I was experimenting on."

"No, that's not it." John frowned. "It's your voice. You sounded sad when you mentioned your equipment being destroyed. What else?"

"My violin," Sherlock replied softly. "My grandfather left me his Stradivarius; it was my relaxation, my means of stilling the rush of thoughts that would keep me awake for days on end." He sighed. "Playing my violin was as natural to me as breathing. I daren't hope that they ignored it."

John his hand across his forehead, nodding in understanding.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry about that. I hate Barrymore's destructive nature, but that won't fix the damage he's caused." He moved closer, his hand unerringly finding its way to Sherlock's shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze. "Mrs Hudson is making arrangements for some equipment for you, let me know if you need anything else once that's in. Meanwhile, we need to collect your notes from Mike."

"You're right," Sherlock said, shaking off his melancholy. "The sooner we get them, the sooner I can begin."


	50. The Insider

On the outside the building looked like an ordinary house to office conversion, and the name JB Consultancy was ordinary enough given the central London location.

On the inside however, once past the opulent reception area the building was a hive of industry. One room was genuinely given over to a team of financial consultants, but the rest of the house was the heart of Barrymore's criminal network.

From the same office where he had instructed Lestrade to flush out the traitor on his payroll he sent two of his thugs to dispose of the bad apples, and now he sat staring blindly at the papers that would give him leverage over his rival Openshaw, seething over the telephone conversation he had just had.

"_Sally Donovan has moved out of her flat, and she slept last night in Lestrade's office."_

"_He took a call last night while he was at the house, could've been her."_

"_Well she couldn't stay there without his okay on it. Trouble is I don't know where she is now."_

_Barrymore waited._

"_She… er… she and Lestrade went out, he's been back about an hour but I haven't seen her."_

"_Did you ask?"_

"_Greg said she was following some leads on an armed robbery somewhere in South London. I couldn't really push it."_

"_Just find the bitch!"_


	51. Assessing the Risk

Greg wasn't naïve enough to think that Donovan's participation had gone unnoticed by the gang leaders, someone would have been looking for her and noticed that she had left her flat late last night.

Until the other officer on Barrymore's payroll had been identified he knew he had to be careful who he trusted. Shutting himself in his office he picked up his mobile and dialled.

"I imagine you already know that my sergeant, Sally Donovan, is no longer staying in her flat." He said as soon as the phone was answered. "You may not be aware that she slept the night in my office and that I had the opportunity to question her thoroughly this morning."

"And?" Barrymore snarled.

"And I'm certain that she has no idea of the content or significance of the information she passed to Miss Smith." He said calmly, knowing the other man wouldn't believe him.

"Good. Where is she now?"

"Staying with friends. I've given her an easy case to work, something to take her mind off things."

There was a moment of silence at the other end of the phone.

"Be here in an hour."

"Yes Sir." But Greg was talking to a dead line. He thought quickly, and then dialled another number.

"Sally listen, stay in the flat, and keep the door bolted."


	52. Covering All Bases

Opening his office door, Greg sent an officer to the canteen to pick him up a coffee, then shut himself back in and once more picked up his phone.

As his call was answered he could hear the sound of traffic in the background, muted and muffled.

"Can you talk?"

"In a cab, can listen though. What's up?"

"Not sure, maybe nothing, but Barrymore has summoned me to his office."

"That doesn't sound good. What do you need?"

"Sending up a prayer that I can pull this off would be a start," Greg laughed, but there was little humour in it. "That aside, if I don't make it out of there in one piece there's something that I need you to do for me."

"Anything Greg, you know that."

Yeah, I know." He paused as the officer knocked on the door and delivered the beverage, nodding his thanks and waiting until the door was once more firmly shut. "You know my sergeant, Sally Donovan? She's using my place as a safe house. If I don't get back keep her safe for me?"

"Of course. I'll get someone to keep an eye on you at Barrymore's too, just in case."

"Thanks for everything John," he said as he finished the call. "You're not just a good guy; you're one of the best."


	53. At St Bart's

"Who was that?" Sherlock asked as they crossed the pavement to the hospital entrance, his voice low.

"An old friend of mine, Greg Lestrade." John shook his head, anticipating another question. "Don't ask more now, not in here, I'll tell you more later."

Side by side they walked the corridors, heading in silence towards the small office where Dr Mike Stamford prepared his lectures.

With the briefest knock at the door Sherlock pushed it open, ushering John in ahead of him.

"John? John Watson?" Mike sounded shocked. He took a step forward then realised that someone else had stepped through the door. "Sherlock? What's going on? What have you done to your hair?"

"Hello Mike." John smiled in the direction of the voice

"Mike. I need my notes and samples."

"John, what happened to you? Why are you two together."

"Same old Mike, questioning everything." John chuckled. "Safer if you don't ask this time though mate, Sherlock and I fell foul of a local gang leader."

Mike's eyes widened.

"Oh God," he groaned, his voice a whisper. "Barrymore. Okay, let me get your stuff."

Mike dug the book and samples out of a store cupboard, watching as they stowed them in various pockets.

As they prepared to leave he said. "John, Sherlock, remember; come to me if you need a bolthole."


	54. Watchful Eyes

Despite the precious items they were carrying, John steered Sherlock in the direction of Postman's Park, a little haven of green hidden from the rest of the city.

Once inside its gates he tapped his way along to an unoccupied seat and sat down.

"Why are we here?" Sherlock was looking around, concerned that they were wasting time but approving the fact that no one could approach without him seeing them.

"Trying to appear normal – if we rush around looking furtive we'll draw attention to ourselves." John pulled out his phone. "Also I want to make a quick call."

His call was to Keith, asking him to watch out for Lestrade, and to let him know if the older man didn't get out of Barrymore's headquarters within an hour or two. Pausing after the call, he quickly dialled another number.

"Kallie? Any joy?"

"No Doc, not so far."

"Okay thanks, keep trying." He turned his face towards Sherlock. "Is there no other way to contact your brother?"

"Short of putting an advertisement in the Times, no."

"Missing. One brother, answers to the name of Mycroft….." John began.

"Last seen hunting cake…." Sherlock finished for him.

John snorted. Sherlock spluttered. Suddenly they were doubled up with laughter, so much so that they didn't notice the interested stare of the lady passing by.


	55. Into the Lion's Den

Keith arrived, breathless, outside the offices of JB Consultants just in time to see Lestrade enter the building. Noting the time on his mobile phone, he popped his earphones in and switched on his old-fashioned MP3 player.

Inside the building, Greg was escorted through the reception, and up the steep curved staircase to Barrymore's office.

"Wait here." The gruff voiced heavy said, waving towards a seat. "Boss will call you when he's ready."

Taking a seat, Greg looked around him. This wasn't the first time he'd been here, but this time he was nervous. Barrymore had given the impression he hadn't believed his cover story for Sally, and he feared for both their lives.

He wasn't left for long, as the door opened and a competent looking secretary walked out, smiling and telling him that Mr Barrymore would see him now. Greg rose and walked through the door.

"You wanted to see me." It was a statement not a question, and it had Barrymore's head whipping up.

"You let Sally go – how can you be sure she's trustworthy?"

"You don't spend as long in this job as I have and not know when someone is telling the truth when they say they know nothing."

"Be that as it may she was Anthea's friend, and like it or not Anthea was betrayed."


	56. The Laboratory

Sherlock and John were still sniggering about Mycroft's cake hunt when they finally climbed out of the cab outside 221B Baker Street.

With a quick glance up and down the street, Sherlock's keen eyes picked out Gary and Andy, both looking busy yet inconspicuous, both keeping a close watch on the building.

He noted that Gary acknowledged him with the barest nod of his head, and he said as much to John once they were inside.

"Of course." John replied in an off-hand manner. "They know you're on our side, they've accepted you into the fold."

"Like a sheep?"

"Yeah, like you're very sheepish!" John grinned and started towards the stairs.

"Boys!" Mrs Hudson called as she walked up from the basement flat and with a flourish handed a key to Sherlock.

"I've kitted it out with the best equipment I could manage." She stepped back as he flew down the stairs, with John following carefully behind.

Standing in the doorway to what should have been a kitchen he listened as Sherlock moved around, mumbling the names of the pieces of equipment, exclaiming over the quality of it all.

Smiling at his friend's enthusiasm, John edged over to a work surface and unloaded the samples he was carrying.

"You have fun here," he said. "I'm going up to make a brew."


	57. Quick Thinking

Being under the scrutiny of one of the most vicious gang leaders since the Kray Twins was a nerve wracking business, but Greg didn't betray his fear by so much as a twitch as the corpulent career criminal leaned across the desk and ranted.

"Where she is now?"

"At her friend's place." Greg shrugged with feigned nonchalance. "I'm not expecting her back in the office for a while."

"And what about this 'easy case' you've given her?"

"Armed robbery in south London, I've sent her to the investigating officer as a critical friend, looking over their casework."

Close enough to the truth, planning ahead, he'd offered her services to an old friend on the force in Woolwich. What he wasn't admitting was timescales; the casework wouldn't be ready for at least another fortnight.

"As soon as she's back I want you to let me know." Frustration had Barrymore pacing the room. "Now get out. Don't come back until you can give me Donovan!"

With a brief nod, Greg made a quick escape.

Keith breathed a sigh of relief seeing the older man coming out of the building. He watched as Lestrade walked away, then he waited….

Just as he expected, another figure left the building, shadowing the older man. Keith grabbed his phone.

"John, your friend has picked up a bug."


	58. The Dipper

Keith thought quickly, and taking a deep breath he broke into a run, coming up fast behind Barrymore's lackey, barging into him and clumsily slipping a hand into his pocket as if 'dipping' him.

"Oi! You little shit! Stop that kid, he just picked my pocket!" The lackey shouted making a grab for the young man and missing.

Greg heard the shout and turned, seeing the homeless kid running towards him followed fairly closely by a familiar looking man. He reached out and grabbed the kids arm, realising immediately that the boy's struggles were more for show than anything, and he held him quite easily until the victim drew near.

"Is this the lad, Sir?" Lestrade flashed his warrant card.

"That's him, picked my pocket." The aggrieved lackey poked a finger close to Keith's face.

"I didn't, I just knocked into him."

"You lying little…."

Greg held up a hand.

"What has he taken?"

The lackey stopped trying to get hold of Keith and patted down his pockets.

"Um….nothing. I um, well he…"

"Not to worry sir, easy mistake to make." Greg soothed. "Leave the boy with me I'll talk some sense into him."

They stood together, watching the lackey go back the way he had come.

"John sent me Mr Lestrade," Keith said quietly. "Told me to watch your back."


	59. An Old Friend

The sound of voices up in the flat drew Sherlock's attention away from his new and spacious laboratory, and he ran up the stairs two at time.

"Ah, Sherlock, can you come here and give me a hand please?" John asked as he heard his friend walk in.

Entering the kitchen Sherlock saw the doctor carefully bathing a young man's arm.

"I can't feel any glass in there, I'd appreciate your eyes on it though."

Looking closely, the long gash looked clean and glass free and Sherlock said as much. John nodded his head and started to wrap a light bandage around the arm.

"Sherlock meet Sammy, he and I have helped each other more times than I can remember."

Sherlock nodded at the young boy, who grinned back.

"Sammy has been doing a little job for me."

"Doc sent me to your place Sorry, I had to break a window to get in."

"And?"

Sammy hopped off the kitchen stool and picked up a large sports bag which he handed over. Sherlock peered inside. With a gasp he pulled out his violin case, opening it and smoothing a loving hand over the Stradivarius within.

"I found that skull too." Sammy said. "Thought you'd like him back."

Skull?" John asked.

"An old friend." Sherlock smiled, placing it on the mantlepiece. "Billy"


	60. Maestro

Mrs Hudson collected up the remains of the casserole and took it back downstairs, taking Sammy with her.

"It was good of Mrs H to feed the boy." Sherlock said, sitting on the edge of the leather armchair that he had claimed as his own.

"She always looks after the kids, when they'll let her." John sat opposite him and stretched out his legs, leaning back into the chair and closing his eyes. "Some are too independent, or too distrustful."

"Sammy's seems a good kid."

"Hmm. What's the story with the skull?"

Sherlock looked up at the mantlepiece.

"I like to have someone to talk to, someone to discuss ideas with."

"Someone who won't answer back, or sell your secrets?"

"Something like that." Picking up the violin, Sherlock settled it under his chin and after a few tentative strokes of the bow he started to play a sonata, lifting himself from the chair and moving to stand to one side of the fire.

Looking through his unruly curls, he saw John relax as the music filled the room, the tension around his eyes eased as a smile turned up the corners of his lips.

Swaying in time to the music, Sherlock's eyes never left the other man, and as the music ended he remained standing, waiting.

John sighed. "That was beautiful."


	61. Contingencies

**I offer apologies to my wonderful readers - I had a hectic weekend, and my poor computer thought I'd deserted it in favour of...well, most of you know who I'd desert my computer for! Anyway, what I'm trying to say is I know I missed two anticipated chapters, I'll try to make them up to you soon :)**

Sweating somewhat over his meeting with Barrymore and his close call with the shadow, Greg took on board the warning implicit in Keith's words. Watching his back. More to the point, keeping Sally safe.

Making it appear as if nothing was wrong, he returned to his office and sat for an hour at his desk, refreshing his passwords on his computer and sending an urgent text to Sally.

On receipt of her reply, he pulled a few files up onto his desktop, then closed his computer and with a brief 'Good night' to his team, made his way home.

Sally was sitting on the couch in the dim early evening light when he arrived home, looking up as he opened the door.

"Lay down." He instructed once he'd closed the door.

Puzzled, she obeyed; watching as he turned the light on then crossed to the close the curtains.

"Can't be sure they're not watching the flat." Greg explained, turning the television on just loud enough to muffle their conversation. "Barrymore tried to have me followed when I left his office, and he's keen to get his hands on you."

"I'd better go, I've caused you enough trouble as it is, Sir."

"Greg. And no, I've worked out a way we can do this." He grinned. "By getting information via the backdoor."


	62. The Plan

Sally frowned, her confusion less at being instructed to call her boss by his name than the thought that they could get the information they needed without her going into the office.

"It's going to take a little ingenuity," Greg continued, "whoever the mole is; he or she may well be tracking any movement on your computer."

"But you just said…."

"I know, but I think I've worked it out." He accepted the cup of coffee she passed to him with a nod of thanks. "If you access my computer remotely, you can work on tracing whoever the bad apple is."

"Yeah… yeah that could work." She said enthusiastically. "I've had a few ideas where to start looking, should I log on tonight?"

"No, it would be best if you only do it while I'm in the office. I have enough paperwork backed up that I can stay in the office and delegate some outside stuff." He handed her the remote log on details.

"Okay, I'm assuming we don't want to go for the bank accounts yet?"

"No, I need a special warrant for that; we'll make that the closing move once we are 99% certain of our quarry."

With a nod Sally made a few more notes.

"We have to make a case that they won't be able to break"


	63. Good News

John lost himself in the sound of Sherlock's violin; there was no doubting the man was a skilful player, and despite Sammy hurriedly throwing in a whole ream of sheet music he was playing from memory.

It sounded perfect, and the music was soothing, peaceful, and as echoes of the last note faded John stood and stretched.

"Lovely." He said softly. "Almost the perfect lullaby, think I'll turn in for the night."

He didn't see Sherlock's heated glance, but he felt the tap of the violin bow against his arm.

"What?"

"Your friend Kallie has just crossed the road." Sherlock wasn't sure why he was whispering, "I'll get the door."

John listened to the younger man's feet tripping lightly down the stairs, Kallie's skirl of surprise when the door was opened before she had even knocked, and her hushed voice chattering excitedly.

"Doc, we think we've found both of them!" Kallie rushed into the flat and grasped John's arm. "Paul's got a picture of a Neville Drury, lives in a posh flat in Maple Quays. Thank God he had such an unusual name."

"Doesn't help, I don't know what he looks like." Sherlock sighed.

"I know, but I found a Matthew Reader in Lavender Hill who might know him." She showed Sherlock a photo on her phone. "Is this your bloke?"


	64. Lavender Hill

It was barely light when Kallie led John up to the front door of the pre-war terraced town house, then slipping away to stand with Sherlock in the shadows.

John knocked a couple of times before a light showed through the glass over the door, and he heard footsteps moving softly down the passage.

The door opened and a chain rattled.

"Who the hell are you?" The voice was well spoken, although not naturally so.

"Mr Reader?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Mr Reader, you may have been expecting Miss Anthea Smith to contact you with regard to the disappearance of her employer's brother." John kept his voice low and calm. "May I come in and discuss this with you?"

"Miss Smith is dead."

"I know, but I'd still rather not discuss this on the doorstep."

With a nod Matthew Reader slid the chain off, opening the door and waiting as John stepped in.

The door closed with a sharp snap, and John felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed against his temple.

"You really blind?" Reader kicked at John's stick with his toe.

"I am."

"Yet you're sure you've got the right man. Why?"

"The answer's on your doorstep."

After a pause, Reader pushed John against the wall and cracked the door open. What he saw made his eyes bulge.


	65. Territory

06.30am, and three explosions ripped through the WC1 area of London.

The shrill ringing of his mobile dragged Greg from a restless sleep, and he cursed as he squinted at his alarm clock.

"Lestrade." He croaked, trying to clear the muzzy feeling from his tired brain.

"Good morning Sir, I've been asked to advise you of a series of incidents in the Bloomsbury area." The voice of the control room supervisor pushed away the last threads of sleep.

"Series of incidents?"

"Three explosions Sir, we have army EOD on route to a fourth suspect package outside the Brunswick Shopping Centre."

"Oh Jesus! Anyone hurt?" As he spoke Greg was pulling clothes from drawers and wardrobes.

"No numbers confirmed as yet. DI Gregson has gone to the scene at Old Gloucester Street and DI Dimmock to Boswell Street. They're expecting you at the Endsleigh Square scene."

"Right, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Should I contact Sergeant Donovan?"

Greg pulled on his dressing gown and moved to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

"No, Donovan is on loan at the moment, can you alert Detective Constable Greenaway, and ask him to get the team together."

Putting the phone down he looked up to see Sally standing in the doorway.

"The struggle for territory has started," he said. "With bombs."


	66. Another Day, Another Murder

"Do you need me to come with you?" Sally asked, sitting at the kitchen table.

"Too dangerous." Lestrade was hastily swallowed a quick breakfast. "No, I think we go ahead as planned. When you access my computer you'll see that I've put those files you suggested on the front screen."

Once in his car Greg forced his mind away from the vulnerable woman he had left working in his flat, making the journey to Bloomsbury in record time. He pulled up outside the cordoned off, bomb damaged house.

Ducking under the tape he walked over to Detective Constable Greenaway who was standing with the senior fire officer, Sub Officer O'Neill.

"What have we got?" he asked the younger man while nodding to acknowledge the fireman.

"The house belongs to one Peter Openshaw, local gang leader, runs the WC1 area." Greenaway looked up from his notes. "We don't know yet if he was home, the neighbours weren't sure"

Greg turned to the fire officer.

"Was it a device?"

"We're treating it as such. We've checked for secondary devices, it's clear." O'Neill glanced up at the building. "Not what you expect in an area like this."

Greg opened his mouth to ask a question but was interrupted by another firemen hurrying to report to the senior fire officer.

"Sir, we've found a body."


	67. Making the Connection

Sherlock stepped through the door, leaning back against it and looking at the stupefied bodyguard.

"I would appreciate it Mr Reader if you would remove your gun from my friend's head. My brother needs all the allies he can get at the moment."

He glanced at John, who was obviously listening for something, and realised immediately what he was missing.

"She went back home." He said, and was rewarded with a smile that said he'd done the right thing, not mentioning names or insisting she come inside.

"Mr Holmes, we thought you'd been taken." Reader spoke up, putting the safety back on the gun and motioning them to follow him through to the lounge.

"The plan was that once we had confirmation that you were actually taken, and not just away for a couple of days, the person your brother had trusted with the names of the two people who knew where he would be was to pass them to Anthea, and she was to contact us."

"Anthea sold out to the other side." Sherlock muttered bitterly. "Her latest boyfriend was John Barrymore."

Reading whistled.

"We think we've found Neville Drury, once you can confirm we have the right man you need to contact my brother."

"And then we need to talk to him," John added. "To plan the first battle."


	68. Research and Developments

Dragging her thoughts away from the bombs and the turf war, Sally settled down at the kitchen table with her laptop and notepad.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she opened up the files that had been pulled up for her, and one by one she started to eliminate possible suspects.

By lunchtime she was down to four people that had the position to be of use to Barrymore, and at least one had a gambling habit, which on the surface looked to be under control, but warranted deeper investigation.

Pushing aside her work she made another cup of coffee, and helped herself to the makings of a cheese sandwich then switched on the portable TV on the work unit and watched the one o'clock news.

She watched as Lestrade was interviewed by the BBC news crew, followed by identical statements from Gregson and Dimmock at the other scenes, then finishing her lunch she flipped the television off and pulled her laptop back towards her.

As it powered up again, she realised that she had seen something. Something so commonplace that it was easily overlooked in internal investigations.

Working quickly, she scanned through screen after screen, looking for the last piece of the puzzle, then, with a sigh she sat back in her chair and whistled through her teeth.

"Bingo!"


	69. What is Happening to My London?

Having put Matthew Reader in touch with Neville Drury, John and Sherlock backed off, arranging for them to contact John when arrangements had been made with Mycroft.

They had given John's mobile as a contact number, knowing the GPS had been disabled on it, and it was a measure of John's trust in Sherlock that he simply handed the phone over and directed him to attach an old blues number, Stranger on the Shore, as Reader's ringtone.

John switched on the television, just in time for the BBC news.

In stunned silence Sherlock walked across to stand next to John's chair, both men drawn to the reports of the bomb incidents.

"Barrymore." John said, his voice little more than a whisper.

"How can you be sure?"

"I know he's after Openshaw's territory, it's been on the grapevine for months, looks like he's finally made his move.

"Will this affect our plans?"

John looked down with a small sad head shake.

"If anything it will help us, because hopefully Openshaw's men will make some kind of stand."

"And that's a good thing?"

"No, just inevitable."

Something in those words made Sherlock glance down at the man sitting beside him.

"What is happening to my London?" John whispered, sorrow heavy in his tone. "Day by day it seems to be turning into Bedlam."


	70. Support

"You can't let it get to you now" Sherlock sounded concerned. "Not after all you've done, all you've been through!"

John's shoulders slumped in an attitude of defeat.

"Sometimes I wish….." Drawing a deep breath, he found he couldn't finish the sentence.

Sinking down beside the distressed man Sherlock's hand hovered, unsure whether he had the right to offer comfort.

Deciding it couldn't hurt he gently laid his hand on John's shoulder, feeling the slight flinch then the warmth of the smaller man's trust as he relaxed and leant into the touch.

"Don't do this to yourself John," he said quietly, taking in the lines of exhaustion that left their stamp on John's face. "It's just tiredness talking."

"I'm fine."

"No, you didn't sleep well last night; I heard your nightmares…." Sherlock's cheeks reddened as he admitted his eavesdropping. "Then there was our pre-dawn start this morning. You've done so much for me in such a short time; let me do something for you."

With gentle hands he urged his friend to his feet and turned him towards the stairs.

"No," John protested. "Not bed. I'll lay on the couch and rest; you go and play with your chemicals." He carefully sunk down; resting his head on the cushions and smiling gratefully as the young man covered him with a blanket.


	71. Chemical Reaction

Standing holding a test tube in the flame of a Bunsen burner Sherlock divided his attention between the chemical reactions in front of him, and the equally strong chemical reaction fizzing through him whenever John was close. As he watched the liquid bubbling in the glass tube he tried to recall if he had ever felt this way before, and if so when and for whom, but nothing came to mind.

Sherlock was nothing if not brutally honest, at least with himself, and as he consulted his notes and added a few more chemicals to the mix he examined any likely ulterior or less than realistic motives. Was it the fact that John had rescued him, had offered him trust and security, befriended him where others had avoided him?

Resting the test tube in a wooden rack he waited, automatically noting the chemical changes, letting the part of his mind that was looking inwards review the last few days.

Although they were opposites in many ways they worked well together, complimented each other, even had the same slightly twisted sense of humour…..

And suddenly it all became crystal clear. That they were the two halves of one whole.

Like he had craved first drugs, then absolute mental focus and clarity, so Doctor John Watson craved the adrenalin rush of the battlefield.


	72. Moving Closer

The body removed from what was left of the house in Bloomsbury was unrecognisable; the incendiary nature of the device had left the bare husk of what was once a human being, charred and twisted with the heat.

It was nearly lunchtime before Greg could leave the crime scene in the capable hands of the forensic team, and he headed back to his office, wondering how long it would be before some sort of retaliatory action would be taken.

Noting that both Gregson and Dimmock were already back in their offices pursuing their cases, he made his way to his office and called his team into his office. As they crowded into the room he outlined the events of the morning, tasking various officers to work with Gregson and Dimmock's teams to build the case, while setting others to pick up surveillance of known bomb makers.

Waiting until they filed away, he turned next to his computer, knowing that whatever he put onto the system now would be open to Sally's view, but as soon as he logged on he realised that Sally had worked her magic and found their mole.

On the desktop was a new file marked 'Phone Records', in it were the itemised bills for a certain officer's mobile phone and she had highlighted calls made to Barrymore.


	73. The Phone Call

John couldn't pinpoint why it was that he was suddenly wide awake and alert, and it was only as he struggled to untangle himself from the blanket that he realised that his was mobile ringing.

With a frown he reached into his jeans pocket. The ringtone wasn't one he had assigned to a friend, so he was wary when he answered it.

"Hello?"

"Am I speaking to Dr John Watson?" The voice was cold, posh and business-like.

"Yes, this is Dr Watson, who's speaking?"

"You don't know me Dr Watson, but I believe you have my brother."

"Have? I 'have' no one, Mr…?"

"Don't be obtuse Watson; you are currently holding my brother, Sherlock Holmes…."

John had started towards the stairs, the mention of the brother raising the suspicion that was confirmed with that last comment. Knocking gently on the door to 221C he walked in, still talking to the man on the phone.

"I don't understand why you think I'm holding anyone; you must have mistaken me for someone else." Sensing Sherlock moving to his side, John stopped walking and handed the phone to him, holding a finger against his lips for silence.

The young man put the phone to his ear.

"Dr Watson…."

"Mycroft?" Sherlock gasped.

"Sherlock." Mycroft Holmes sounded relieved. "It's good to hear your voice little brother."


End file.
